To the Dream We Come as Living

Last night, on the mattress on the floor, I dreamt.

A world that was whole. Pigment in every being.

Nothing too young to be old, in the window, on the

second floor, of my own heart. Every atom stayed

awake, and there was no need for dawn, or the careful

folds of night.

And I woke up heavy, for the dream is still a way off

and as I lay there on the mattress, the rain was coming in,

and also in my heart, behind the veil of the things that pained me

and left me on the floor of a place that is far from home.

And the days continued, and I cried for the parting

, from my blessing, from my friend.

But I let this agony be,

for such things will pass away, and there will be nothing for nothing

No partings to be had.

No dreams from which to wake up from sorry.